


Oh, the Pain We Have Caused

by AKnightOfAGoodKing



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Justice League - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Breaking down, Flowers, Hurt/Comfort, Molestation, Objectification, Self-Esteem Issues, double standard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 06:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13265334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKnightOfAGoodKing/pseuds/AKnightOfAGoodKing
Summary: Inspired, once again, bybatfamscreaming:"New prompt I forgot last night:Dick breaks down in front of Bruce from sexual harassment because people won’t stop touching and commenting on his butt and he is now self conscious and exhausted and almost MISSES that fucking awful batman capeBruce has to try and comfort him with his own more limited knowledge of this thing because at least when he’s in the galas and papers and being objectified it’s what he was aiming for, but he never imagined the hero community would do it to his Son[.]"





	Oh, the Pain We Have Caused

**Author's Note:**

> **[DO NOT REPOST/REUSE MY WORK(S) WITHOUT MY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PERMISSION]**
> 
> (heres hoping i wrote this well. again, a special thanks and acknowledgement to batfamscreaming.tumblr.com.)

Bruce wasn't sure why his oldest was looking so . . .  _so solemn._ A face without a smile like morning glories  on his son was the last thing he would have ever expected, returning from a solo night patrolling while Damian was with the Titans. What even less expected was Dick - who discarded the idea of a cape as his first act of becoming his own hero - looking almost _longingly_  at the thick, black cape of a back up suit. 

"Why so glum, chum?" he asked, unknowingly reverting back into a younger self's dialect. Bruce removed his cowl, hands already moving to the rest of the suit. 

Dick shrugged, looking half-heartedly over his shoulder. His lips were pursed, his posture less defined than usual as if he was trying to soften the fine shape of his body. Bruce knew he wasn't good with words, but he could read people's body language a lot better. He was most observant like that. 

"You think you could make me a cape, B?" the young man asked, walking over to help his father out. 

That was odd. "You don't like capes," Bruce called out, not understanding what Dick might be thinking, but he remembered why. He remembered the things Dick used to tell him when he was just a kid. "They weigh you down, and they aren't very fashionable. Why would you want one now? You move better without one. You proved it for years. I thought you didn't want to be like me."

Ah, there was a smile on Dick's face, as there suppose to be, and yet it was very small. It was like baby's breath, decorative but only to fill in the empty spaces. 

"I don't," he replied, taking a seat at the computer. He uncharacteristically slumped back, letting out a huff of light exasperation. "I just- I just need a break from it all sometimes."

Bruce raised an eyebrow, grabbing both bottles of water from the refreshment tray Alfred left out for the night. He handed one to his son, who took it but only held it in his hands. 

"Cassandra can take care of Blüdhaven," he suggested. He knew Dick had a love for Gotham's sister city as he had for Gotham herself. Maybe Dick just needed some time away. "I doubt she'd mind taking care of it for however long you need. She's more than capable."

Dick shook his head, burying his face in one hand while the other placed the water bottle on the console. "That's not what I meant, B," he replied weakly. "I just want people to stop."

"What do you mean? Stop what, Dick?" Bruce asked, kneeling down in front of his son. It was rare for Dick to be distraught to the point of Bruce having to get the answers out from him. He placed his hands on Dick's shoulders, softening his tone and slowing his words because he had to try. "What's wrong, son?" 

And he looked up, his blue eyes growing bloodshot as Dick attempted to speak as his voice slipped through the cracks away from.

"Am I fat, B?" he asked, his shoulders shaking from restrained sobs. "Because people keep saying my butts always s-seems to get bigger every time they see it. I-I think it's fine if they just looked, but _they keep_   _touching me._ And sometimes it really hurts because I ask them to stop but they do it any-anyway. I thought that maybe I wore a cape for a wh-while, they'll stop for a bit since they wouldn't get to see my butt, but now that I th-think about it, my butt's probably too big to hide under a cape now!"

And there was the silent shattering of glass that only Bruce heard because he didn't know, not until now. But how many years could he guess it had been since all this started - this _degradation_ this _humiliationt_ his _objectification_ \- before he can no longer resist the urge to scream and claw at each and every single person who touched his son? Five? Seven? Dick was only sixteen nine years ago. Who would do such a thing to a young boy, barely on his way to becoming a man?  _Why?_

"Who?" Bruce asked, voice thick with  _somuchangerandsomuchguiltandsomuch-_

"Everyone," Dick answered, no longer able to hold himself together any longer. "Foes.  _Friends._ "

And for the longest time, face frozen with wide blue eyes, Bruce remained kneeling there, wondering how rightfully angry John and Mary Grayson would be if they were here right now, knowing that their precious boy was being treated by the very people he loved and adored, the very people who loved and adored him back. 

The very people who made it their life's purpose to _protect._

This wasn't what Bruce wanted for his son, for any of his children, so he didn't think much about it, not when he flaunted himself for the media on purpose. He'd been called many things and implied as even more, but it didn't matter to him. He didn't mind, honestly, because it was to protect himself and those he cared about, inside Gotham and out. If anyone knew that dumb, hunky, spoil, rich playboy Brucie was Batman, too many pieces of the puzzle would fall into place and dominoes would start falling in a single line, leading into the private lives of everyone else. 

But this wasn't about him. This was about Dick, his  _son_ , his oldest, the other half of the Dynamic duo. The young man whose image of himself was berated and whacked with constant attention to his body throughout the years. Just how old was he when someone first came on to him? How old when people just started touching without listening?  _How long?_

"B?"

Bruce blinked back into the moment, looking at his son with all his thoughts and attention now towards whatever Dick was going to say. "Yes?" he asked softly. 

"That was pretty stupid," Dick said right after, wiping his tears away with the back of his hands. "I shouldn't think too much about it. It's funny, right?" 

A casket of red spider lilies buried itself into the space between his lungs, and Bruce, like so often, didn't know what to  _do_ , what to  _say._ He was breathless. Speechless. Unmoving.  _Uncertain._ (always _._ )

"Sorry," Dick continued, trying to blink the rest of his tears away, but they were still falling like rain in the middle of an ocean storm, boats attempting to go for dryer land but somehow getting closer to the center. "I'm sorry."

Bruce pulled his son, one arm around Dick's shoulders and the other around his torso, unknowingly reverting back to a young self's habit, and for a moment, like old times, it was just the two of them, except they had become a little older and so many,  _many_  things had changed. 

"No. I'm sorry."

It was the only thing he managed to get out as he held onto his son tightly, swallowing thickly as he silently begged for forgiveness, and Dick held onto him, entire oceans washing over him. 

**Author's Note:**

> (on the same note: i personally think this is a problem a lot of heroes and villains face, from their enemies, each other and their fans. and i think its something that should made more aware of. just a thought.)
> 
> ((on a personal note: does that make sense? 'A casket of red spider lilies buried itself in the space between his lungs, . . .' it was an attempt to recreate the meaning of the red spider lily but i think i lost what i meant to mean? oh well.))
> 
> If you like my work(s), please check out my Twitter and consider supporting me: [@kappachyun](https://twitter.com/kappachyun?s=09).


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